No Time For Regrets
by Tintaglia
Summary: His ward's, no son's face is so peaceful, too accepting of the ill fate, as if he knew what the end result would be the second Deathstroke appeared. Fate is a cruel trickster but Death doesn't taunt, he takes without remorse.
1. Chapter 1

The moment finely slit metal impaled Nightwing's chest, when blood began to mercilessly flow from the inflicted wound, when Robin's screams echoed within the cold night, that was only the beginning.

Gotham truly housed an avenging angel, a demon of the night.

Batman, for once could do absolutely nothing. He simply stared at the limp form of his surrogate ward. Even with the Man of Steel literally only seconds away, they were still too late. Nightwing was dead and no amount of invincibility made a difference. The dead don't return, and if by fate they do, life's taught Batman it's never a heart warming reunion and resurrection always comes at a price (sanity being one).

All he does is stare, noticing every single detail. Memorizing his son's final moments, the expression he's wearing, committing it deep into his mind where it'll never be forgotten. It's such a terrifying view, Gotham's Dark Knight is reduced to a pile of incompetent flesh useless at providing any assistance to the chaos unfolding between former teammates.

His ward's, no son's face is so peaceful, too accepting of the ill fate, as if he knew what the end result would be the second Deathstroke appeared. Fate is a cruel trickster but Death doesn't taunt, he takes without remorse.

It had been only several weeks prior to the League's departure from Earth, off into another alien community to face trial. After segments of debate, Earth's heroes, in agreement with their juries, concluded the verdict of not guilty though reparations for their actions were charged.

Returning home to insure the safety of his family had been the main reason for his persistence in leaving, diligence in any aspect came a long way. Prior minutes until there arrival, Batman, or rather Bruce who despite failing all aspects of the ideal father figure felt the uneasiness clawing within him, bubbling to the point of sheer panic. Batman remained composed hinting no sign of discomfort forever the embodiment of vengeance but the human sliver that lived in the cowl became an entirely different matter.

Bruce barely contained the every growing monster which threated to take hold and jump at the first opportunity to grab the nearest meta human and demand the fastest passage to Mount Justice, regardless of the sheer madness of traveling in space without possessing any superhuman ability. Seconds became minutes and for once Bruce no longer envied Flash's ability to process everything at light speed. Reverting to formerly forgotten calming methods, he inhaled and exhaled as normally done. Only those with countless years of experience in martial arts could pinpoint the exact disruption in his breathing, note the extra amount of minuscule air he greedily consumed, filling his lungs with more oxygen to quell the adrenaline yearning to spill. All efforts on his part were in vain, for the accursed sentiment did not dissipate. With the League's arrival to the the formerly calm vicinity, the sky became illuminated even in the absence of the Sun and Bruce at a loss of words.

Debris littered the beach, sand mixed with numerous broken equipment and drops of blood splattering the most inconvenient places. Broken boulders mounted on top of another barely holding, ready to collapse if applied with sufficient force and perhaps the most shocking scene at the time, Mt. Justice in ruins.

Less than a mile away, the source of destruction lay in broad night, flames erupted from destroyed machinery, smoke rising at a steady rate, tinting the already colorful scarlet sky. Men from Black Manta's army lay defeated, battered and bloody but alive. Humanoid figures barley outlining the ongoing hysteria were spotted and quickly recognized as both the former and current leaders of Young Justice. Both leaders fought with such intensity, resorting to brutal and tactical force, causing their bodies to react on instincts at times where the opposer grasped at the opportunity to win leverage on the other. Numerous wounds bled continuously on both competitors, explaining why blood marked the beach at an inconsistent rate, marking one place then appearing at another several feet from the prior.

Both males radiated exhaustion, breathing heavily, muscles quivering and ready to give out from the abuse received, their owners promptly ignoring critical protest opting to make the next move then asses their badly beaten bodies. Seconds after the beginning of yet another obvious brawl, a lone shadow appeared, clothed in a dull and fading orange, masked, and most notably, the single eyed mask where snow white hair was neatly tied behind. The figure moved with such swiftness, even constricting sand made no difference in hindering him. Twin swords, thin and deadly sharp, were brandished and expertly wielded, aiming at its intended target.

One second Kaldur's confronting his former teammate, engaging him in combat far worse then their adolescent years and the next he's holding a barely alive Nightwing. His arms are shaking, because yes he knows that their entire plan may eventually lead to confrontation but he never expected for one of the casualties to be Nightwing, nor that his death would be at the hands of a complete stranger. The only warning of the oncoming tragedy is a slim reflection from one of the Grim Reaper's prized possession. There's the sound as metal rips through fabric, then the grotesque echo as it pierces through skin, muscle, tissue, and finally emerges from the back of Nightwing's body to his chest. Blood drips slowly from the wound and Kaldur's given the opportunity to see just how much pain his friend must be in. He believes his eyes deceive him, that exhaustion finally takes hold on him, that hallucinating is the only reason why Nightwing, instead of being in shock, horror, have any feeling of betrayal, is instead sporting a satisfied smile, one that sends a chill through his spine. His surroundings are tuned out, leaving only himself alongside the other individual who he shared his secrets of betrayal, who dared to carry the burden of what he would commit in the near future. Now that person is dying and he can't think of what to do, all his emotions are scrambled, none given direction and frankly he does not care, his friend is dying and unless he chooses to forfeit five years of undercover work Nightwing is going to die.

Resolution manifests itself as he begins to carefully maneuver Nightwing to limit the blood escaping its owner only to be stopped by a quivering yet firm hold.

"Don't, kay Kal, you'd... better make... the most... of this... don't dare stop...or go crazy on me." Every word spoken has so much conviction that he can't stop himself from nodding in agreement, he wants to scream in frustration to tell his friend to stop, that he will live but he's trapped. His opinions no longer matter, though Nightwing as Robin never wanted to be Batman, there's still that sense of devotion to the mission that defines the Dark Knight.

Kaldur decides that he just wants to let the emotions built inside him over the years finally burst. Where he can exert every single feeling he's denied himself and to not care anymore. He won't though, because now there's been another casualty, one with a family tie to the Dark Knight.

He'll sit down one day, maybe where Mount Justice used to stand, he'll sit and reflect about what he's done, and remember the older days when Young Justice had barely formed. When Superboy, now Conner first saw the moon, where Kid Flash, Wally, bickered with Artemis over the strangest things, when Megan baked cookie's for the team, and when Dick did that chilling yet childish laugh and disappeared.

A/N: Congrats on making it to the end of my first attempt at angst. Don't know why, but I felt like writing something somewhat sad. All mistakes are mine, and don't judge I was supposed to do an English essay instead,procrastination is such a friend. Hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review or comment on thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you very much for the favs and follows it makes me happy to know people enjoys reading this and hopefully the second installment isn't too bad.

* * *

Robin, no Tim Drake, is in hysterias. The only emotion his mind can process is agony, a sick and twisted sensation that proves you're human. It's a sentiment he's tempted to throw away if ever given the chance. Well-kept hair falls merciless onto his already exhausted and red brimmed eyes, further emphasizing the futility of life. Dick Grayson, Tim's only remaining brother, lies dead two and a halve feet away from him held by a cationic Batman. Chills enclose his chest, pressuring an already broken organ which awaits the final push of destruction.

Deathstroke arose the same way he left. An untraceable ghost whose sole reason for existence, Tim decided was to rid the world of any brimming hope for humanity. Nightwing, despite his young age, became a role model for all aspiring sidekicks (they were called partners but he's a realistic person.) For Timothy Drake, he was an aspiring acrobat, a mentor, and most importantly the one constant person in his life. Dick pulled him out of his inner shell, forcing him to speak with others. For holidays he'd wake before the warm hues of sunlight penetrated the silky curtains, proclaiming a family outtake and dragging their mishap group out onto whatever fit his whim. Now he's gone. Tim also decided the notorious villain bordered on suicidal, making enemies with vengeance itself. If by some strange turn of fate Bruce proved himself incapable in avenging his former partner, Robin will gladly finish the job.

Reminiscing brought another form of nausea into Tim's stomach, resignation quelled again into his mind. Once more grief took over, emotional healing would be a lifetime therapy and no sooner, his adoptive father only strengthened his deduction.

Leaning his neck by a few degrees from the stone wall holding his battered body, Tim saw Mount Justice in shambles. Before the Justice League appeared everything was carnage, the leftover malfunctioning equipment from the enemy proved it. Members of Young Justice lay openly on the field, attempting to either defend their fallen comrades or hastily retreat until further notice on Nightwing's orders. He remembers seeing Nightwing shouting directions in volumes he believed his beloved brother incapable of, reverberating across shattered planes. Plentiful scenes flash across his mind, finally settling on death's fateful moment. What puzzles him most is Kaldur's face during the moment.

Nightwing suffered a devastating blow courtesy of the alluding Deathstroke, quickly falling en route for bloodied sand merely stopped by the traitorous enemy's own hand. Kaldur's appearance revealed a turmoil of emotions, first astonishment, then alarm, followed by sorrow and settled with acceptance. Tim recollects on barely audible whispers approaching from his fallen adoptive brother and the laughable nodding from a former friend, (_he's frustrated with his inability to recall the instant._)

Two minutes and twenty three seconds in counting have passed since Dick died. Each second ticks a lifetime of regrets and resentment, slowly but surely filling the young child with a thirst for justice if not vengeance for his deceased relative. Bruce may have permitted Jason's death to be in vain, submitting Joker to only half a year's time in a full body cast but Tim has had it. He's lost his entire biological family, one older brother, and now another, he's done with sanity. Maybe Tim's selfish, the second protégé of Batman deserves the same treatment with Joker securely floating in freezing seas, withering in torment with his twisted smile, before perishing into the unknown abyss, and Tim's resolved he'll do that once Nightwing's laid to rest. Tim acknowledges the path he's treading reeks of unforgivable redemption, born of desperation to quell the snippet of madness munching people's sanity. He'll have disapproval from his mentor but Batman's not here anymore (Robin knows his new preoccupation with self-guilt and isolated brooding) and Tim, Batman's third protégé has no savior to pull him from the satisfaction of retribution.

"Don't worry Dick you won't be forgotten and neither will Jason."

* * *

Kaldur sees the cautious stares directed at him upon his capture.

His hands are tainted with Nightwing's precious lifeline substance and no amount of cleansing will ever remove the accusing voice inside his head blaming him for Nightwing's departure from the world. Despite his better instincts to flee the battleground after their defeat Kaldur painstakingly realizes his muscles won't hold out long enough to reach the ocean even with it laying only several feet away.

Instead he opts to see the mayhem he's caused and its aftermath. Robin leans tiredly a few yards away from where his former king stands and begins trenching for the inevitable capture of a cherished son. Nightwing happily boasted about the newest addition to his family much to the child's dismay. Gazing at him astonishes the rapid change in his demeanor. Gone are self-conscious twitches of thought that beforehand radiated from the young boy, replaced by a swirling aura of wrath and other unidentifiable feelings suppressed by his subject. All it took was one event and Kaldur winces in remorse for his actions brought the end of an innocence Nightwing cherished about his living brother.

Further studying Robin, he sees various cuts gracing his torso, blood steadily flowing outwards while other scrapes begin to clot near his biceps, ripping across the Kevlar suit adorning him and sweat mixes with dirt adds to his lifeless complexion as Robin freely rests on littered slabs of stone. Part of Robin's domino masks is shredded and he sees the accusing irises staring at him longingly. Kaldur breathes a sigh of relief; satisfied that someone blames him because even though Nightwing may not he needs to know someone can, even if it defies all his enclosed beliefs. It's a cowardly escape but he won't mind if Robin has a reason to live for and he a means of twisted atonement. Each thought passes quickly and he's suddenly forced to admit that maybe if he'd died instead of Nightwing things would be better. No more endangering the team. Conner wouldn't stare at him in disbelief and anger; carefully restraining himself from forcefully grabbing whatever shreds of cloth cover his chest and demanding answers, simply to be met with already rehearsed scripts. Megan may be unconscious but he can imagine her attempts to crush his mind and he mustn't relent, he lives for Nightwing's sake now, not his. No one else knows, he has two purposes, a rebirth of sorts, to become the hated enemy of his former teammates, their new source of anger. Once all is finished he will disappear and hope isolation can prove some consilience.

Everything is now a written play, actors who must improvise, and an audience that will participate.

* * *

"_Tsk, tsk, and here I said no madness." _

* * *

Hello again nice to see you at the bottom of the screen, leave a comment about what you think since I'm not to sure if it came out as good and it's kinda late over here but anyhow hope you took some pleasure in reading an attempt at angst. =)


End file.
